


Complications

by NobodyAtAll



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Effie/OC, F/M, So much angst, Strong Language, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyAtAll/pseuds/NobodyAtAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Navigating the intrigues of the Capitol elite isn't easy, especially when you have a conscience.</p><p>Effie is seeing a prominent man in the Capitol. Haymitch doesn't like it at all. Pre-74th games, beginnings of Hayffie if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Haymitch Abernathy had never seen his escort willingly put up with such indecent behavior in the four years he'd known her. This rich prick was acting way too familiar with her. Familiar wasn't even the right word - possessive was closer to it. He walked around with his hand on her waist; drifted it downward every so often to feel her up... Haymitch wasn't sure why it bothered him, except that he  _knew_ Effie hated unseemly behavior. Sure, it was plain as day that they must be sleeping together, but  _why_ was she sleeping with him?  _Him._  The rumors that circulated among the Victors about  _him,_ and the twisted things he'd  _done_ to them... Haymitch didn't like it. At all.

His only choice was to get as wasted as possible.

Effie covered for Haymitch's behavior as long as she could, but she was eventually forced to frogmarch him out of the sponsors lounge to avoid further humiliation. “Why must you be so vile?” she hissed.

“Sorry, your highness, but I’d rather have a threesome with President Snow and my own grandmother than spend another second in that room watching Tertius Felshaw slobber all over you.”

She frowned and rolled her eyes at his lewdness. “He isn’t slobbering. And there’s nothing wrong with two people who are seeing each other showing a little bit of affection.”

“Since when are you _seeing_ him?” Haymitch demanded.

Effie crossed her arms indignantly. “I have been for several months. Though it’s none of your business, really. ”

“What the hell for?” he asked flatly. “You’re not attracted to him.”

“Why in the world would you say that? And what do you know about it?”

“I know how you look when you’re attracted to someone, Trinket.”

She completely ignored that comment.

Haymitch pressed the issue. “He’s a sleaze-bag. Not your type. Come on, be honest - what could you possibly see in him?”

“He is a very important man.”

Haymitch made a derisive noise. “He’s a creep.”

“Well fortunately you don’t need to concern yourself about it, since you aren’t the one spending time with him.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Shut up.”

“Tell the truth, Trinket. What's in it for you? He your ticket to the big-time?"

Effie's eyes widened with fury. “How dare you!" She pushed him farther into the corner, and lowered her voice. "He is a _very_ personable man, and if I choose to spend my time with him it's none of your business! Though I don't see why you should have such a problem with it. It may have escaped your notice, but this, being Twelve's escort? It's my _job_. Year-round. For the ten months out of the year when you are doing nothing but drinking yourself into a stupor, it is my duty to maintain connections in the proper circles, so that when it comes time for the Games again, and we need sponsors, there is someone actually willing to talk to us!” Her eyes flashed. “And it’s doubly important to make nice in my case, since I’m quite on my own where that’s concerned! So if I choose to see someone who also _happens_ to very well-connected, you _ought_ to keep your opinions to yourself and just be thankful!”

“So you admit it. You don’t really like him.”

“I didn't say that! And my arrangement with him is none of your business, Haymitch.”

“Course not. But a word of advice: things might be different here in the Capitol, but in Twelve we have an unflattering word for someone who fucks people for money.”

Effie’s face turned bright crimson. For a moment she stood frozen on the spot, turning redder and redder. Then, with tears shining in her eyes, she turned about and walked away faster than he thought possible in those ridiculous shoes.


	2. Complications

Several hours after their remaining tribute had died, Effie threw up for the third time.

Ideally, she would have done this at home in her own apartment, but her room in the Training Center had been much closer, and she hadn’t thought it worthwhile to risk getting sick in a cab, or being photographed crying by the paparazzi. And on the plus side, only authorized persons were permitted in the Training Center, so there was no chance of Tertius Felshaw showing up at her door unannounced. She shivered at the thought of him.

She was a wreck. Hysterical weeping had melted her makeup. Her face was puffy and red and sticky. Her room here was stocked with necessities and several ‘emergency outfits.’ It was an easy decision to resign herself to showering, spending the night here, and sorting things out in the morning.

As she got out of the shower, Effie heard a noise out in the hallway: a scuffle, and then the sound of glass breaking. _Haymitch_ , she thought. Well, he was bound to show up eventually. She made up her mind to stay in the room and completely ignore whatever it was he was doing, even though, yes, she grimaced, that was definitely the sound of a bottle breaking.

She threw on a pair of cozy pink lounge pants and a soft t-shirt, and curled up miserably in her bed. Images of the boy’s gruesome death horrified her every time she closed her eyes, so she lay there with her eyes open, trying not to think at all. But of course, her mind was going a thousand miles a minute. Flashes of blood, flashes of laughter, flashes of gore, flashes of skin. It was unbearable. She wept into her pillow, trying to muffle herself in case Haymitch was sober enough to notice the sound.

It was no use trying to rest. She really needed a sleeping pill, but unfortunately there weren’t any in her little toiletry bag - she must have taken the last one without remembering. Well, she thought desperately, being conscious was too hard right now. If she couldn’t have a pill, she needed a drink.

Slowly, she opened the door of her room and peeked out. The penthouse was quiet. She tiptoed out of her room, barefoot, and headed toward the living room, seeking the liquor cart. She paused a few feet away from the couch, where Haymitch was laying, eyes closed, silent. He must have passed out. Good. The last thing she wanted right now was to deal with him.

The telephone on the corner table suddenly rang, startling her. She bolted over to it, reaching for the phone quickly to stop it from waking Haymitch, but she stopped short. She knew who must be calling. How could she speak to him, either?

On the off chance it might be someone else, Effie chose to answer. Her heart quickly sank, though, when she heard Tertius’s voice greet her on the other end.

“ _I thought you might like to get a late dinner, now that we can actually spend some time alone again._ ”

“I’m not really in the mood for dinner right now, but thank you,” she said quietly. She glanced nervously at Haymitch, whose eyes were miraculously still closed.

“ _Come on, Effie... I know you’re disappointed, but I’ll cheer you up. Promise_.”

She turned away from Haymitch, and forced herself to remain quiet and civil. “Not tonight, Tertius. I have things I need to attend to. And I really haven’t recovered from the events of the day. Least of all, your insensitivity.”

“ _Oh, for fuck’s sake, Effie, it’s District Twelve, all right? What did you expect to happen?_ ”

She held her breath. There was so much she wanted to say to that, but only so much she could safely say, considering the listener and the means of communication. “I expected you to be a little more respectful of my feelings, at least!” she whisper-yelled indignantly. That didn’t even begin to cover it. A tear escaped from her eye and ran down her cheek. But before he could respond, she jumped in with an excuse. “Regardless, I can’t go anywhere tonight. My victor is in a state again, I need to keep an eye on him.”

She heard the judgement in his voice. " _Would it really be a loss if he drank himself to death?_ ”

“I must go,” Effie replied.

There was a pause. Then, “ _Enjoy your evening, Effie. My regards to your drunk._ ”

If it would not have been the height of bad manners, she would have hung up right then. Thankfully (or unfortunately, depending how you looked at it), her social graces were deeply instilled. “Good night, Tertius.”

She hung up the phone harder than she’d intended.

“How kind of you, to stay in to take care of me,” Haymitch’s voice drawled from behind her.

Of course, he was awake. Of course he was.

She turned her head. He was laying on the couch, positioned exactly as he had been, but his eyes were open. He was smirking at her unkindly. “You know, I’m not really that far gone. I’d be all right on my own. You go, have a nice time with your, ah, gentleman. Don’t let me keep you here.”

She felt the hot tingle of her cheeks turning red. She hated that he'd caught her in a lie. But why should she care, really? His opinion didn’t matter a bit. She ignored him, turned and took the few steps to the liquor cart, and grabbed a glass. Her normal go-to would be something sweet and complicated to mix, but the circumstances called for something simple and strong.

“While you’re over there, I could use a refill. Since you’re here to take care of me.”

Effie clenched her jaw, and fixed herself a vodka on the rocks. As an afterthought, she grabbed the closest bottle of liquor and walked over to where Haymitch was sprawled. She dropped it onto his chest. “Knock yourself out,” she said cooly.

She turned to go back to her room, but his hand closed around her wrist and held her there. “Hold up there, a minute.”

Effie tried to pull away, but he had a surprisingly strong hold on her, for being so intoxicated. “Let go of me,” she said through her teeth.

“Just look at you, though,” he said, surveying her with a look of mild fascination.

Effie’s skin grew warm. She’d forgotten how she was dressed. “Stop it,” she muttered, trying to pull away again. Bad enough that he see her in these clothes, but with no makeup and damp hair? She might as well be naked.

His fascination had turned to scrutiny. “What’s the matter, princess? Did Mr. Moneybags make fun of you for losing again?”

“Could you _please_ just SHUT UP?”

She shouted the words before she realized she was saying them. Haymitch was staring, with his mouth partway open. Effie wished she could wipe away the tears that were overflowing down her cheeks, but she still held her drink in one hand, and Haymitch hadn’t let go of the other. She turned her head away, blinking fiercely to hold back more tears.

“I don’t care what you think of me,” she said flatly. “At least I am _trying_ to prevent the kind of thing that happened today.”

Haymitch suddenly looked wary. He slowly swung his feet down from the couch and sat up. “Another loss for District Twelve,” he clarified carefully.

“Another helpless tribute ripped apart,” she retorted.

His grip tightened around her wrist. His expression had grown quite serious. “Sit down,” he told her. He pulled on her arm, hard enough that she yielded to him.

Effie was not accustomed to such rough behavior. How dare he manhandle her like that! She was about to tell him off, but was startled when he took the glass out of her hand and set it on the coffeetable. Before she could sputter a response to that, he took her by the elbows and made her face him. “Listen, Trinket. No one, and I mean _no one_ can prevent the kind of shit that happened today.”

She swallowed thickly. “That’s helpful,” she said.

“You tell me then, hm? You bagged us a sponsor this year. Did it help?”

“It could have!”

“But it didn’t.”

“So we were unlucky this year. You want to give up? Leave all the tributes on their own?”

“It’s not luck. It’s stacked against us. The careers are well-fed and well-trained. Kids from Twelve are starving and scared.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘careers,’” she said quietly, looking away. Of course there were. But it was dangerous for an Escort to acknowledge it.

Luckily, Haymitch wasn’t dense. He took in the comment, and then continued as if she had agreed. “There wasn’t anything more I could have done to help that kid. I sent him some food. He got killed the next day. The arena is designed to kill them.”

She stifled a sob. What he was saying might be true, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d watched as a boy was torn apart on live television, and most sympathetic reaction in the room had been a shrug.

“Someone ought to care,” she whispered. “No one ever cares when our tributes die. It’s a like big joke. When other Districts’ tributes die, people pay attention. But no one takes Twelve’s seriously. It’s not _right._ ” It _wasn’t_ right. She didn’t care who could be listening in - there was nothing treasonous about wanting a little dignity for her tributes.

She wiped the tears off her cheeks furiously. “I’m not giving up,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I won’t give up trying. They deserve to live as much as any of the others do.” She grabbed her drink off the table, and took a big gulp. It burned her throat and she coughed.

Haymitch patted her back awkwardly. Then he pulled the bourbon bottle out of the couch cushions, and clinked it against her glass before opening it and taking a long draft. “Nice choice,” he commended her, checking out the label on the bottle.

Effie took a smaller sip of her drink. She couldn’t get it out of her head - the image of blood everywhere, his organs spilling out, heart still beating...

“You’ve been hanging around Felshaw for months now, right?" Haymitch inquired, bringing her back into the moment. "Got lots of introductions, made some important contacts?”

“Yes. So?” she asked defensively, turning her head to look at him.

Haymitch’s eyes were bloodshot, but his gaze was steady. “Then you’ve gotten what you needed from him. No reason to prolong it.”

She was ready to punch him for presuming to speak to her about her personal life, except that what he was saying was exactly what she wished for. The thought of spending another moment with Tertius Felshaw made her stomach churn. Unfortunately, though, she was backed into a corner where he was concerned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Haymitch,” she said quietly. “Ending it now would be downright vulgar.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then snorted with derisive laughter. “You sure are something.”

Effie frowned and took another swallow of vodka. “Why?” she demanded, wiping her mouth. “Because I have the presence of mind to know that if I choose to end it now, it will look very bad on my part? That I’ll get a reputation? And that, when the time comes, if I don’t want to ruin any future dealings with him or his friends, I need to end things with him _amicably_ \- which, at present, I am completely incapable of doing?”

Haymitch shook his head and took another swig from his bottle.

She could feel the alcohol starting to warm her cheeks. Or was that just embarrassment? She lifted her glass and drained what was left of her drink. Surely she wasn’t letting Haymitch’s disapproval upset her. What did he know about navigating the intrigues of the elite? Nothing. But oh, she did not like the way he was looking at her. And she suddenly felt the compulsion to defend herself.

“I’m not as awful as you think I am,” she informed him, trying not to cry. “ _He_ pursued _me_ , you know. And he’s a very important man, very charismatic. I thought I might like him. I won’t say I didn’t consider the advantages that might be gained from the relationship, but I _certainly_ didn’t go into it with a mind to offer myself up as barter.” The suggestion of it made her choke up in humiliation. She sniffed and tried to wipe away the continuous flow of tears down her face.

“I don’t know why I’m even telling you any of this, because I don’t know why I would care what you think...” she croaked, “...but I didn’t know.” Her voice was pathetic, but she couldn’t produce a stronger sound. “I didn’t know what he was like. I didn't know he would _laugh_. You know he laughed?” She looked at Haymitch, desperate to see a hint of understanding. He was scowling. “When the boy died today, he _laughed_.”

Effie covered her face with her hands, unwilling to let Haymitch see the ugly sobs that were now overwhelming her. Stupid, she’d been so stupid. She should have ended it before the Games ever started. Before the Reaping. She regretted ever letting him touch her, actually. Now, in order to make it clear that she had _not_ been seeing him simply to gain an advantage in the Games, she almost _had_ to let him touch her again.

She felt Haymitch squeeze her shoulder. “I could kill him,” he offered.

Effie’s heart jumped. She lifted her face quickly to look at him. “Haymitch! Don’t say that!” she whispered in a panic. Her eyes darted around the room, as if she might be able to see the hidden devices listening in on them. Her gaze ended on the front door, ready for peacekeepers to burst in at any moment.

“It was a joke,” he drawled wearily.

“Doesn’t matter,” she hissed. Her pulse slowed down, though, as the seconds ticked by and no authorities arrived to arrest them. She forced herself to relax. “It is sweet of you to offer, though,” she added quietly.

“Just let me know,” Haymitch replied. “It would be my pleasure.”

Effie held back her smile of gratitude - having a lover killed was not something one ought to smile about. How had her life turned so ugly?

Haymitch was watching her. He leaned forward and grabbed her tumbler. “Here,” he said, pouring a generous amount of bourbon over the half-melted ice. “You need a real drink.”

She took the glass, watching the brown liquid swirl around the ice. With a heavy sigh, she took a sip. The stuff was awful. “Ugh, I don’t know how you drink this,” she grimaced.

“Lots of practice,” he answered wryly. “Keep trying.”

The door to the apartment opened, suddenly, and Effie jumped. Even Haymitch immediately became alert.

It wasn’t peacekeepers, though. It was Haymitch’s friend from Eleven, Chaff. Effie immediately drew herself up into a better posture, sitting very straight.

“Same shit, different Games,” Chaff announced, stumbling toward the living room. He stopped suddenly when his eyes landed on her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize... ...oh my god, is that you, Trinket?”

Her entire face burned with embarrassment. It was bad enough to be seen by Haymitch in this state. To allow an almost total stranger to see her like this was simply unacceptable. “In one form or another,” she answered briskly, adopting her usual tone of voice. She stood up, and immediately felt the alcohol affecting her. “I’ll leave you boys to yourselves.”

Haymitch spoke before she could move. “You gonna be all right?”

If it was possible, her cheeks flushed more. She turned her head and smiled at him to cover up her shame. “Of course. It’s awfully late, anyway, I really should try to get some sleep.”

Without another glance, she turned and fled toward her room, taking the glass of bourbon with her. She could hear Chaff speaking quietly as she went down the hall. “ _Shut up_ ,” she distinctly heard Haymitch reply.


End file.
